


Mirrors

by afterandalasia



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/F, Femslash February, Hate Sex, Infidelity, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn Battle, Rough Sex, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-07
Updated: 2014-02-07
Packaged: 2018-01-11 13:07:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1173430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/afterandalasia/pseuds/afterandalasia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cersei should have known that it would be a woman who would match her for wits.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mirrors

**Author's Note:**

> Porn Battle prompts: lies, games, power

The strangest thing, perhaps, had been that Cersei's husband had never really been a match for her. Not in wits, not in artifice, and certainly not in treachery. So it is something between expected and surprising when Margaery Tyrell, with her whore's attire and her woman's mind, is the one who matches her for mindfulness.

It is almost mirror-like, and Cersei has always hated and loved mirrors. They fascinate and disgust her in the way that they show the world, but also in the way in which they have their flaws and imperfections. The world is imperfect enough without a mirror to make it worse.

"I do not care that Joffrey is Jaime's son," Margaery says, as cool as running water, and Cersei almost goes to slap that calm, delicate smile off her pretty face. It is not compassion that stays her wrist, though, but curiosity. "You and I both know of what consequence are kings, and of what import are Queens."

Cersei never cared for Robert's bed. It was a chore, one which she sadly could not leave to servants (although Robert took it to them anyway). Only in her brother's arms had she found desire, let alone pleasure. So Margaery, with her knowing eyes and her soft lips and her wicked fingers, is something new and shocking and at the same time very familiar; as familiar as Cersei herself.

Margaery's fingers roam beneath Cersei's gowns, scrape against her skin, slip between her thighs. She always smells of roses, and the smell comes to be as arousing as a hand on her cunt, fingers sliding into her.

"Truth be told," Margaery says one time, whilst she straddles Cersei with her flawless body on display in the firelight, "I would as soon marry you as Joffrey. I imagine it would be a better match for all involved. But alas, the rules of the throne are what they are."

For that, Cersei pushes her back onto the bed to fuck her hard, biting down on her shoulders so fiercely that for the next week the queen-in-waiting wears more modest gowns than usual to hide the bruises on her flesh. But Margaery laughs through it all, and perhaps that it what she intended all along.

Cersei never did expect to meet a mind that was in some ways like hers. Perhaps she should have thought, though, that she would not be able to read it.


End file.
